


Genesis

by Dee_Laundry



Series: My Fathers' Son [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Domestic, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-11
Updated: 2008-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson finds an entry he hadn't expected in House's cell phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Genesis

**Author's Note:**

> Before Jack. Custom written for [](http://hirenkoi.livejournal.com/profile)[**hirenkoi**](http://hirenkoi.livejournal.com/) as a thank-you for donating to The Robert Sean Leonard Birthday Charity Drive benefiting Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. Thank you to my First Readers for support and suggestions and to the outstanding [](http://bironic.livejournal.com/profile)[**bironic**](http://bironic.livejournal.com/) and [](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/profile)[**daisylily**](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/) for beta.

This grant proposal was driving Wilson insane. Collaborating with Sloan-Kettering had been the right decision, but there was no denying that there were _way_ too many cooks spoiling the broth on this one.

And somehow (_you know how_, whispered a tiny voice) it had fallen on Wilson to pull it all together and play mediator. He had re-written huge swathes of the proposal, soothed egos, and tracked down all the details needed to cross the t's and dot the i's. The only thing left was to call Wentworth for an updated CV, and then he would be done, done, done.

So of course his cell phone was dead. Wilson growled. It was seven o'clock on a Sunday, dinner was almost ready, and he wanted to _finish_ this and not think about work for twelve entire hours.

In that vein, he couldn't stand the thought of going back in his home office and powering up his laptop again just to find Wentworth's number. He considered calling his assistant for the number – a sign of his desperation, that he was contemplating being so utterly rude – when his eyes fell on House's cell phone, discarded as usual inches away from the recharging center.

Given House's tendency to stalk anyone Wilson had the temerity to spend even a minute alone with, it was a good bet that House had Wentworth's phone number in there if not her Social Security number and mother's maiden name.

Wilson grabbed the phone – _done, done, **done**_ repeating in a giddy refrain in his mind – and typed "WENT" in the Contacts box.

His mind stopped.

House strolled into the kitchen and headed to the pantry. "That lasagna-smelling thing better not be an eggplant fake-out," he said from behind the pantry door, emerging a second later with a bag of bagel chips.

"What you don't know won't hurt you," Wilson replied automatically. "Who is this?" he asked, pointing to the phone.

"What are you doing with my cell phone?" House retorted around the crunch of a mouthful of bagel chips.

"Mine is dead, and I needed Dr. Wentworth's number for the grant proposal. Who –"

"You don't want to call her from _my_ phone," House interrupted. He had pulled the apple juice from the refrigerator and was swigging it straight from the bottle. "I'm almost positive she's got my number blocked by now."

"What have you been – No. You're not going to distract me; I don't want to talk about Wentworth now." Wilson pointed emphatically toward House's cell. "I want to talk about this entry in your Contacts: Went-a-Womb."

House crammed another bagel chip in his mouth and grabbed an oven mitt. Turning his back, he opened the oven and poked at the casserole inside. "It's a crappy name for an escort service, but hey, they're cheap, and you keep saying I need to pay more attention to the budget."

"It's not an escort service," Wilson said. The familiar, comforting exasperation tamped down the fluttering of anticipation that was in Wilson's mind, his heart, and his gut all at the same time. House had to know that Wilson knew who "Went-a-Womb" referred to, which meant his evasiveness was a cover for something _big_.

Something life-altering, if Wilson wasn't mistaken. He probably was.

He hoped he wasn't.

As House futzed in the oven, poking the casserole with a fork, and very studiously not meeting Wilson's gaze, Wilson continued, "I remember Went-a-Womb, aka The Baby Seller, aka your ex-patient Sarah Lowenstein."

"Do you keep track of all my ex-patients, or only your fellow Chosen People?" House slammed the oven door shut, threw the mitt onto the counter, and bent toward the refrigerator. His tone and every action conveyed angry annoyance, but Wilson could smell the fear underneath.

Big.

"I remember her," Wilson said, grabbing House's arm as the man tried to escape, "because she's the only serial surrogate mother I've ever met, and because after you cured her, you told her to call you before she decided to get pregnant again."

"Patient care follow-up is important," House said quietly. His eyes were fixed on a far corner of the ceiling, and his right hand was worrying the handle of his cane.

Wilson slid his hand down to cover House's. "It's extremely important," he confirmed. "And you never do it. I have to cattle-prod your fellows to make sure _they_ do it." He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "So what makes Sarah Lowenstein so special? And why, a month later, do you still have her phone number in your cell?"

House pulled away and retreated to the other side of the kitchen. "Her case was interesting."

"It wasn't that interesting," Wilson commented. He could read House's body language like a book, and it made him want to break out into song. He grinned instead. "You kept her number, and told her not to get pregnant because..."

He trailed off to see if House would look up, would confirm what Wilson was already sure was true. House didn't, but it didn't matter. "You wanted a baaabeee," Wilson sing-songed. "You want to make a baby with me!"

House frowned and still wouldn't meet Wilson's eyes. "It's just the _case_."

No scoffing; no retort about Wilson's biological clock ticking or Wilson's uterus going to seed; no change of subject. Wilson was _right_, and this was _real_.

So incredible. And so... sexy.

When Wilson spoke, he was pleased to hear his passion reflected in the deeper register of his voice. "I have never found you hotter than I do at this moment."

House looked up finally, searching Wilson's face, and Wilson put everything he had into his gaze and expression. He licked his lips and continued, "Let's go start trying for that baby."

House was still looking uncomfortable; Wilson knew how much he hated being found out. "You do realize that's a physical impossibility?" House scoffed.

"Oh, dear," said Wilson slowly, stepping closer. "I seem to have been unclear. Let me re-phrase." He was inches away from House now, and the heat suffusing him was overflowing into the air between them. "I'm going to fuck your brains out."

House swallowed. "Oh. Well, then."

Wilson slowly leaned in closer, enjoying the way House's head tilted and his eyes began to spark with anticipation. "Bedroom," Wilson whispered against House's mouth, his lips making the lightest of caresses against House's. Smiling, he pulled back and watched House lean unconsciously toward him.

House shook his head quickly as if to clear it and straightened. "You're not going to take me right here on the kitchen counter?" he asked, voice straining for its normal cynical tone.

"I need more room to work." Wilson turned the oven down to warm and then headed out of the kitchen, trusting House to follow.

He was not disappointed.

They kissed for several long minutes in the doorway to the bedroom – the _master_ bedroom, Wilson corrected himself, because some day the home office down the hall would have a crib in it instead. The thought drove him to kiss House harder, even more warmly. House wanted a _family_. With him.

It made Wilson frantic, frenzied with hope and possibility, mad with love for this amazing person.

When he managed to get House's clothes off without ripping anything, he considered it a major accomplishment. He paused for a moment, panting, looking down at House stretched out across their bed. He was used to seeing House naked by now, used to the hairy legs and knobby knees, the heart-rending scar on his thigh, the taut muscles of his abdomen and the gray-sprinkled fuzz on his chest. Wilson was used to it, but he didn't think it would ever stop thrilling him.

And that face. The face that held a thousand thoughts, a thousand concerns, but would, sometimes, when Wilson was very lucky, soften enough for some happiness to shine through. Wilson held House's gaze for a few long moments and then ducked his head to press another kiss to House's lips.

"My brains are still firmly in my head," House informed him when the kiss broke.

"You're saying I should get a move on?"

"Well, if you don't have anything else better to..." House's quip faded into a groan of pleasure as Wilson began licking his way down House's body.

He took it slow, rubbing his tongue and lips over every patch of skin he could find. He didn't bother licking House's nipples – not much of an erogenous zone for House – but couldn't resist tweaking the left one with his nose as he passed.

His hands trailed behind, lingering on the large muscles of House's shoulders and arms, alternately stroking and simply clinging on for dear life.

"Brains still in," House complained, but the breathlessness with which he spoke belied his words.

"I'm getting there," Wilson replied with a grin and darted his tongue into House's navel. House both flinched and moaned; teasing tickles were always a total turn-on.

Wilson lightly tongued the rim of House's navel and then the soft skin next to each hip bone in turn. As House writhed and made the soft sounds he always denied were whimpers, Wilson couldn't help smiling, couldn't help dancing his fingers across House's ribs to deepen the writhing into rolling waves. Coasting on those waves was like bodyboarding, Wilson thought, his mind going back to old family trips down the shore to Point Pleasant. Together enjoying the sand and sun, and in a few years Wilson could take his own kid and help him or her jump the waves, tiny trusting hands tucked safely into his.

He slid his arms under House's thighs, grabbed onto House's ass, and sucked House's dick right in without warning. He ignored the gasp, ignored the clenching of muscles, ignored the hands scrabbling at his hair. Suction and tongue work to drive House's pleasure ever higher were the only things worth focusing on.

Humming in his satisfaction, Wilson missed the first rumbled words from House, but a sharp tug at his hair caught his attention. "Stop," House insisted, confusing him.

Wilson stilled his tongue but refused to move his lips from House's cock, looking up at House for clarification.

"You said 'fuck,' not 'suck.'"

With a last broad lick, Wilson pulled his mouth away. "Are you sure?" Most of their sex life revolved around oral sex and frottage. With House's favorite positions for bottoming being a strain for him to maintain, anal was generally more of a bother than it was worth.

"Get the fucking lube," House growled, and Wilson launched himself up off the bed.

Back in less than a minute, lying along House's left side, Wilson wanted to take the prep slowly, make it sensuous and accompany it with long, deep kisses.

House was having none of that, apparently. He kept rocking his hips urgently, pushing his ass against Wilson's hand and practically sucking Wilson's fingers deeper into him. He wrenched away from the kiss, gritted his teeth, and nudged Wilson's head away. Wilson felt hurt for a second, until he looked at House and realized that House wasn't rejecting a kiss, he was demanding eye contact. House loved to _see_.

Wilson sped up the prep, matching House's pace. He let himself grab a few quick kisses, but always with his eyes open to take in House's expressions and let House into him.

_Fuck_. He could feel himself start to shake with the intimacy of the moment, so open it almost hurt. This was all supposed to be for House, but if Wilson wasn't careful he was going to lose control completely.

"Now," House demanded.

OK; OK. Wilson busied himself moving the pillows around to support House's back and hips, which let him gain a little distance. He needed a second before getting caught in House's gaze again. No one had ever _looked_ at Wilson the way House did; it was gratifying and terrifying at the same time.

House let out a quiet disappointed-sounding grunt. "Quit fussing and fuck me."

Wilson nudged a pillow one last time, and climbed between House's legs. "Hold your horses."

"Hold my dick," House retorted, and Wilson was happy to comply, wrapping his left hand around the base of House's cock and scrotum and reveling in the groan that produced. Bracing his other hand on the back of House's upraised thigh, he pushed slowly in, and _that_ got him a deep moan.

He looked into House's eyes as he started to thrust, and found himself yet again captivated by the passion there. It was overwhelming, having House around him, and under him, and _with_ him, defenses dissolved clean away.

"I'm not going to last," he panted. "Too much."

"Fuck you, you lousy reneging –" House's diatribe broke off into a loud, sharp inhalation, and House's cock jumped in Wilson's hand. Those beautiful eyes closed as House's entire face contorted in pleasure.

Speeding up his thrusts and pressing House's cock more firmly against his own skin, Wilson breathed, "That's it; that's it."

"Fuck." House's head arched back as his ass slammed up against Wilson's pelvis. "Fuck; fuck," and a long shuddering groan, and House was coming over Wilson's hand, over his skin, sticky heat overflowing, and Wilson was... so... fucking... in love.

After the last shudder ran through him, he opened his eyes to House's gaze on him again, softer this time, and sleepier. Proud that he'd been able to keep himself from collapsing on House, even with how shaky his arms had become, Wilson leaned down and kissed him. The kiss was unhurried and shallow, a gentle play of lips against each other, as Wilson eased himself slowly out of House.

When he was fully out, he finally let himself slide to the mattress and curl around House's left side. His head was on House's chest, his arm around House's waist, his leg tucked over House's leg – he was home.

"We're messy," House pointed out, right hand wrapped around Wilson's forearm, left hand stroking Wilson's hair.

"Mm hm," Wilson agreed. "Gray matter bursting will do that to you."

"Braggart."

Wilson smiled into House's chest. "I was talking about me." He closed his eyes and pulled himself even closer to House, basking in the warmth.

A few minutes passed in a happy, peaceful haze. Wilson's mind drifted back to his childhood, and forward to a moment when he could hold his own child.

"You really want to do this?" he asked House quietly, careful to keep his head down so House could have the distance he usually needed for confessions.

Wilson's head was gently rocked as House chuckled. "You handed over the sex without knowing? Got to work on your negotiation skills."

"I _know_," Wilson said, and he did. "I just want to hear you say it."

"Yes," House said. Wilson felt a nudge and a poke, and let himself be pushed up to sitting. He looked down at House, who met his gaze and said firmly, "I want to do this."

Wilson couldn't keep himself from beaming. It was incredible, how far they'd come together and how far they could go together from here.

"Call Sarah now," Wilson insisted.

House groaned. "It's late."

"It's seven-thirty. We haven't even eaten dinner yet. Call her."

"I'm naked, I'm sticky, and I'm hungry."

Wilson pressed a quick kiss to House's lips before shifting to a better position from which to prod House out of bed. "I like you naked, I'll get you a washcloth, and dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Make the call."

"Weren't you trying to get ahold of Wentworth?"

"My assistant can handle that tomorrow."

House grumbled. Wilson waited. House grumbled more. Still smiling, Wilson raised an eyebrow.

"Washcloth," House barked, and they got out of bed together.

After wetting the cloth as quickly as he could, Wilson hurried out of the bedroom. He found House in the kitchen with his cell phone already tucked between shoulder and ear, munching on chips. "Uh huh," he was saying. "That sounds fine. No lingering issues then, good."

He was really doing it. He was really talking to the woman who might bear their child. Wilson ducked to catch House's eye and mouthed, "I love you," which got him a massive eye roll and a prompt view of House's back.

"Now that that's settled, there's one other thing," House continued. "I have this friend – Yeah, really, a friend. What he wants to know is, what's a guy got to do to get you knocked up?"


End file.
